Georgia on My Mind
by Liselle129
Summary: After the painful and confused events of MIA, Al reflects on life, love, and loss. Chapter 2: Sweet Home Indiana. Al meets teenager Sam Beckett and prepares to guide Sam through his own youth prior to The Leap Home.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Quantum Leap. This piece of fiction is for entertainment purposes only, and no money is being made.

Author's Note: So I've been watching a lot of Quantum Leap lately, and it occurred to me that it would be interesting to explore certain aspects from Al's point of view. There's a lot of his life we don't get to see. This story follows the Season 2 finale ("MIA"). I've planned for it to be a two-shot. This chapter is a sort of tag to the episode, while the next chapter will lead into the next episode, "The Leap Home."

**Georgia on my Mind**

At the end of his hologram dance with Beth, Admiral Albert "Al" Calavicci put his hands where his first wife's shoulders were and leaned in to give her a phantom kiss on the forehead. For a split-second, he thought he could almost feel her skin and smell her scent. Then he saw the bright flash behind his eyelids that indicated Sam had leaped again and the imaging chamber, no longer receiving data via Sam's brain waves, had gone blank. The only thing remaining in the room with Al was the echo of Beth's voice, saying his name.

Al opened his eyes and blinked, adjusting to the bare room. Seeing Beth like that, looking no different than when he'd last seen her over 25 years ago…the enormity of what he'd lost crashed over him like a tidal wave, pressing him to the floor. His mental state was not aided by the knowledge that his shortsightedness had nearly killed innocent people. If Sam hadn't figured out something was wrong when he had, Al would have had a couple of unnecessary deaths on his conscience as well.

"Beth," he choked out, feeling tears spring to his eyes. For once, he decided not to fight them. Why should he? There was no one here, making it about the safest place in the world for him to lose it. Opening the door required a command from his handlink. It could be opened from outside, of course, but it was unlikely that anyone would do that unless he'd been in here long enough that they suspected his life was in danger.

So he let the tears flow, his breath starting to come in short gasps and then full-throated sobs as he poured out a torrent of emotion that had been suppressed for far too long. There were so many things he could have done differently, and the regrets played themselves through his mind.

_Why didn't I agree to have children? _he thought, finding that decision most prominent. _I know what my reasons were, but I also knew you wanted them. If we had a kid or two, you'd always have had a piece of me with you. Maybe you'd have kept hope alive longer, for their sake. You wouldn't have been alone._

Al had never blamed Beth for finding another husband. He still felt resentment toward the ambulance-chaser she'd run off with, but he could understand that she was a vibrant, attractive woman who needed more to hold than an MIA bracelet. After all, why had Al himself taken four subsequent wives but for a warm body beside him in bed at night, someone to look at over the dinner table, a ready date for various events? Maybe even someone to share a life with, although that hadn't worked out.

At last, the tears subsided, and Al felt ready to face the world outside the imaging chamber. He wiped his face as well as possible and stood up. He took the handlink out of his pocket, tapped the buttons to open the door, then closed it behind himself. He was sure there was no way to completely hide the evidence of his weeping, but if he were lucky, nobody would comment.

He avoided as many people as possible as he dropped the handlink off at the control room and got ready to go home for the day. After more than a year, following Sam's leaps had become pretty routine, and there were no orders he could give that wouldn't be redundant. Dr. Beeks gave him a concerned look but thankfully said nothing. Al promised himself that he would set up a session with her tomorrow, but for tonight, there were some things he needed to work out on his own. He tried not to think too much, staying focused on getting into his prototype car and getting out of there.

Al was very grateful that he'd told Tina he expected to be in the imaging chamber at odd hours all weekend; there was no way he could face her tonight. He certainly couldn't call her "honey," not after calling Beth that just now. Would Tina notice if he switched to another term of endearment for a few days?

Beginning his brief drive home, Al took what felt like his first deep breath in hours. He repeated the process a few times, feeling progressively better with each one. Not great, but better. Well enough, at least, to think that he just might survive this blow, just as he had so many that had been dealt him before. He certainly didn't feel quite as desperate and hopeless as he had just a little while earlier. It was as though his crying jag had cleansed him somehow, washed out the detritus in the storm sewer of his psyche. Maybe there was something to that catharsis theory after all.

Suddenly, Al realized that he'd never really grieved the loss of his wife. When he'd first learned of Beth's disappearance, he'd been recuperating stateside from his ordeal. At the time, he'd been too weak and dehydrated to fully respond to the news. Afterward, he'd been too numb. Then there were all the distractions of reclaiming his life as a U.S. citizen: establishing his identity, getting several medals and ribbons (and a promotion), annulling his marriage, etc.

For some reason, the memory of the annulment still stung, although he hadn't really seen any other option. He'd had no desire to make Beth into a bigamist, especially after she'd made such a point of having him declared dead. He wondered if she'd felt any regrets or doubts when she'd done that. She must have believed it to be true, and why not? So many MIAs had died, and by all rights, he should have, too. It was only remembering Beth, wanting to see her again, that had kept him going. Nobody else in the sorry excuse for a prisoner camp he'd been kept in had survived as long as he had.

So, in a great twist of irony, he'd returned home with no family but the Navy to welcome him. After everything he'd sacrificed for his country, Uncle Sam had bent over backwards to accommodate him, putting him through MIT and letting him continue his military career in a more technical vein. He'd been well past his prime as a fighter pilot by 1973, and the damage done to his body might have precluded his returning to the cockpit even had he been 10 years younger. His new career path was a poor consolation, but it was all he had to hold onto after losing two loves of his life (flying and Beth). His third love, the Navy, was all he had left.

Naturally, he'd considered trying to find Beth, but by the time he was fit to be released, she'd already been married to this other guy for nearly four years. How could he intrude upon that, make her choose? And, to be completely honest about it, he'd been afraid that she wouldn't choose him. Sure, he'd seen Cary Grant's classic _My Favorite Wife _(and even theJames Garner/Doris Day remake _Move Over, Darling_) as many times as anyone, but this was different. Besides, what if she'd had a child with him? There'd even been time for two. As much as he still loved Beth and wanted her in his life, Al couldn't break up a family, knowing from experience how devastating that could be. In the end, he'd decided he was better off not pursuing the matter. Sometimes he still wondered where she was, how she was doing, whether she'd ever found out that he was alive. Had her hair started to turn gray? Did she have laugh lines? Middle-aged spread?

With an effort, Al pulled his mind back to the present. Sam was en route to his next destination, giving Al at least a couple of days to collect himself. That was good because he had a feeling he was going to need it.

"Okay, let's review," he said aloud. "You lost the love of your life again. You were so obsessed with preventing that from happening that you almost allowed people to die who weren't supposed to. And let's not forget that you also betrayed your best friend's trust _and _abusedboth your position in the government and Project Quantum Leap for personal gain. This is a red-letter day for you, Admiral."

He arrived at his house, still trying to wrap his mind around the day's events. They had opened an old scar inside him, creating a fresh wound. However, didn't Al know better than most that some festering wounds had to be re-opened so that they could begin to heal properly? Maybe Sam – and The Man Upstairs – had been right; he'd needed this. While it didn't change the fact that the experience had hurt like hell, he could accept that it might be good for him in the long run. He just wished that things that were good for you didn't have to feel so awful.

After closing the door behind him and hanging up his keys, Al became aware that he was hungry, and it occurred to him that he couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten. He'd been so distracted by what was going on back in 1969 that he'd neglected such mundane things. He began to gather ingredients for his dinner. While he did so, he unexpectedly felt the need to talk to God. He didn't pray often, but Sam's journey had led him to believe that there might actually be a God, something he'd previously doubted for quite some time.

"God," he began. "If this is you jumping Sam around in time, if you're really paying attention to us, I just wanted to say…I'm sorry. I never meant for anyone to die. I didn't know – but then, I didn't _want_ to know. I saw the temptation, and I gave in. Story of my life, right? I mean, there were plenty of signs I was on the wrong track. When the odds of my scenario were barely over 60 percent, I should have known. The right one almost always has 80 percent or better. I should have treated this Leap just like any other, run multiple scenarios to find the best one. Hell, even Sam knew something was wrong."

He stopped there. Sam's instincts had proven to be generally very good in this whole adventure of cleaning up history's messes, and today was no exception. This time, he'd been essentially pulling Al's fat out of the fryer, when it was usually the other way around.

It was funny, in a way. Not too long ago, Al had been ready to rail against God or Fate or whatever force was moving the universe for all of the ills that had befallen him and for making him relive the worst one of all. Now, however, he recognized the need for forgiveness and was honestly asking for it. He was pretty sure that Sam would forgive him. Knowing the kind of guy Sam was, he probably already had. God was another matter.

"I'm sorry," he said again. After finishing his meal, a sudden impulse led him to find his Bible. He hadn't begun his life as a regular Bible reader – the Catholicism of his youth had not encouraged individual study – but he'd found meaning in Scripture at various times since then. Besides, Bible verses had proven to be useful during several of Sam's leaps, so Al had made a point of keeping one around. The project headquarters had at least one copy of each translation for reference, but he had the New International Version at home. Although he appreciated the beauty of the King James version, he found that the more modern translations were often easier to understand. He let the Book fall open where it would and found himself in the Gospel of Luke, chapter 22, where Jesus was praying on the Mount of Olives. His eyes caught on verse 42: "Father, if you are willing, take this cup from me; yet not my will, but yours be done."

"Your will be done," Al said aloud, pondering. In a way, it made him feel better to remember that even Jesus had not wanted to tread the path that he knew lay before him. Still, He'd left the matter in God's hands, and Al knew he needed to do that as well. Then he thought about Sam, unable to live his own life, never knowing where he might land next, compelled to help others fix problems. Sam was sometimes frustrated and probably missed what he could remember of the present, but he never complained about it. Al felt guilty all over again for his self-pity. Sam was in much worse straits, not even remembering that he was married, yet he pressed on, doing all that was expected of him and more. Al sighed, closing the Bible and busying himself cleaning up from his meal.

_I still love you, Beth, after all this time, _he thought. _No other woman has been able to hold me the way you did. I think you're the only one I could have had forever with._

All at once, he remembered a scene from _My Favorite Wife._ Cary Grant and Irene Dunne, who played his first wife, had finally found a moment alone to discuss the fact that she was alive and what he was going to do about the new bride he'd taken. Going from memory, it went something like:

DUNNE: Do you love her?

GRANT: No.

DUNNE: Did you tell her you loved her?

GRANT: Well…

DUNNE: If she agreed to marry you, you must have told her.

GRANT: All right, so I did!

How many women had Al told he loved them over the years? More than he could count, certainly. Sometimes, he'd even believed it, but now, he knew that it had always been a lie. He made a promise to himself that he wouldn't say it again, not unless it was really true. It wasn't right, it wasn't fair, and he was going to stop.

Just before he went to bed, he considered the words from Scripture again, "…not my will, but yours be done." He sent up one final prayer: "God, if it's your will that Sam finds a way to change things so that I get to stay with Beth, then great. If not, well, I'll just have to accept that. I promise, I won't meddle like that again. I've learned my lesson. Okay?"

After speaking those words, a sense of peace came over him, and he slept better than he had in days.

* * *

><p>Author's Note: Needless to say, I don't own <em>My Favorite Wife<em>, either, and the lines really are based on my memory. The script was written by Bella and Sam Spewack.

Okay, I'm not a total geek about this show, so I apologize if I got any details wrong. Besides, there are a lot of contradictions within the series itself. I'm trying to smooth those out as best I can, when I can't simply gloss over them.


	2. Sweet Home Indiana

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Quantum Leap. This piece of fiction is for entertainment purposes only, and no money is being made.

Author's Note: As previously intimated, this chapter leads into the first episode of Season 3, "The Leap Home (Part 1)." I'm so sorry it took so long. I've had this almost done for about two weeks but couldn't seem to find the time to finish it off.

**Sweet Home Indiana**

As it turned out, Al got only one full day off, and that was only if you didn't count his session with Dr. Beeks. It was mid-morning on the following day when he got a call from PQL. To his surprise, it was the project psychologist herself.

"Is there a problem?" he asked, immediately on alert.

"No, not really," Dr. Beeks assured him quickly. "It's just…we think you should get over here as soon as you can."

"Why? Has Sam landed already?"

"Not quite, but Ziggy thinks he will within the next couple of hours. Dr. Gushman's checking the calculations now. And if they're right, I think Sam's going to need you."

"He always needs me," Al replied flippantly, but he was inwardly worried. There was something odd in her voice, and he didn't like it. He had a feeling he wasn't going to learn any more standing around there, though, so he ended the call and got his things together.

Al didn't waste any time when he arrived at project headquarters, going straight to the control room. The whole gang seemed to have turned out for this. Even Donna was there, and Al couldn't help but wonder what he was missing.

"Sam must not be going too far, this time," he remarked to Gooshie.

"No," the programmer replied. "It's still 1969, but now he'll be in Indiana."

"Indiana?" Suddenly, Dr. Beeks was at his elbow, and Al turned to address her. "So what's so special about this leap?" The psychologist drew him aside in an attempt to have a semi-private conversation.

"It's not just Indiana," she explained, her brow furrowed with concern. "It's Elk Ridge, Indiana. Right before Thanksgiving." She paused to let that sink in, and Al pondered.

"Why does that town sound so familiar?" he mused aloud.

"It's Sam's hometown," Dr. Beeks supplied.

Al's eyes widened at the implications. Sam's family had lost the farm long before his path had crossed with Al's, but he'd spoken about it. _From my life into his?_

"Who is he?" Al asked.

"Well, that's the strange part. Ziggy's certain that he's going to be a teenager named Sam Beckett."

"Okay, let me get this straight." Needing something to help him think, he pulled out a cigar and held it between his fingers. He didn't light it because that wasn't allowed in this part of the building. "Sam's becoming his younger self?"

"So it seems. We should have confirmation soon."

"Well, look on the bright side," he remarked. "He should know how to be himself." For once, he'd know the family and friends surrounding him.

"That's not what I'm worried about, Admiral." Dr. Beeks's eyes were pleading with him to understand. Unfortunately, Al found that distracting (he'd had a bit of a crush on her not so long ago), so he looked away. She was still speaking. "Think about it. You know Sam better than any of us, even Donna. This is Thanksgiving, 1969!"

And finally, after digging through his memory catalogue, Al understood what had her so upset. Thomas Beckett had died in Vietnam in April 1970.

"The last time he saw his brother alive," he murmured.

"Exactly."

"So you think he's going to try to change things from his own life?" _Like I did with mine, _Al added internally but did not voice. Still, he suspected Dr. Beeks was thinking much the same thing. They'd just talked about it yesterday, after all.

"Yes," the woman said simply, and Al nodded his comprehension. He doubted that he'd be able to keep Sam from trying to do something foolish, but he might be able to convince him to accept that there were things he couldn't change. How ironic that this task would fall to him. However, Al suspected that it would be even harder for Sam because he was actually there with his family, able to affect certain things but not others. It would be enormously frustrating and probably painful. Maybe Al's recent and still raw experience with Beth would help both of them to get through this.

"Forewarned is forearmed," he quipped. "I'll do my best."

"I know you will, Admiral." Having delivered her warning, she returned to her vigil at the monitors while Al slipped out for a smoke. When he was done with that, he came back to the control room to get a briefing on the latest calculations. Ziggy was absolutely certain that Sam was leaping into himself. Of course, Ziggy had been certain plenty of times before, and not always justifiably. Still, Al saw no reason to doubt him this time and began running scenarios. The ones that Sam would be most likely to want, naturally, were the least probable. The best option was that Sam was supposed to help win a big basketball game that his team had lost. As much as he loved basketball, it seemed rather trivial to Al, at least compared to some past leaps. Still, that game turned out to touch a lot of lives, so maybe it was bigger than it appeared. In the back of his mind, though, he couldn't help but wonder if this would be more about Sam learning acceptance than changing the outcome of a single sporting event.

They'd just finished running and reviewing all of the scenarios they could think of when Sam landed, and the waiting room got a new occupant. As had become his habit, Al looked to the monitor showing the camera feed from the waiting room. He'd developed a pretty good knack for reading the people that came in there. They all looked like Sam to him, of course, but by observing body language and other nonverbal cues, he could often tell vital things about their personalities before he even stepped into the room with them.

This time was no exception, but what he saw took him by surprise, even though he'd more or less expected it.

"It _is_ Sam," he said in a near-whisper. Not only did the man in the waiting room look like Sam, he moved like him. The mannerisms were achingly familiar, despite the obvious fear and confusion that present-day Sam would obviously not experience at finding himself in a room he'd helped build. For a moment, Al could almost imagine that he had his friend completely back again. After the moment passed, however, he started to pick out small differences. This Sam moved as though his limbs were just a little shorter than they looked, and he didn't appear to carry as much weight. Other differences would doubtlessly become apparent when he was actually in the room with him.

"Well, I guess I'd better go greet our guest," he said, slipping the handlink into his pocket so he'd be ready to enter the imaging chamber when this interview was done. For once, he didn't really need to acquire information from the person Sam had displaced, but Al still felt a responsibility to set him at ease as much as he could.

The expected questions bombarded him as he entered the room.

"Where am I? What is this place?" said the young Sam. Despite his trepidation, the boy's eyes were curious, taking everything in.

"I'm afraid I can't tell you very much," Al gave one of his variations on the speech he gave to almost everybody who appeared in here. "Let's just say that you've become part of a government experiment. You'll be our guest for a few days. I promise you that no one will hurt you while you're here."

The green-gray eyes fixed on Al's, and he felt his layers of protection being stripped away and his soul laid bare. One of Sam's most unique traits was being able to see into someone's core that way, and it was more than a little unsettling that he'd already had the ability this young. At the same time, it was a familiar feeling to Al, so he didn't flinch.

"I believe you," Sam said finally. "Who are you?"

"I'm not an alien, if that's what you were thinking."

"The thought had crossed my mind," the boy admitted.

"Well, I'm just as human as you are. You can call me Al."

The boy's brow furrowed, and he tilted his head.

"Al?" he repeated.

"Something wrong with that?"

"No, it's just…I'm not supposed to call adults by their first names."

Al smiled, amused. Sam really was the stereotypical, polite farm boy. He hadn't been too far removed from that when Al had first met him back in the '80s, but this was an interesting perspective nonetheless.

"But I'm giving you permission, so it's all right," he assured the kid.

"I guess so." Sam paused and looked around again. "My name's Sam. Where's my family?"

"They're all safe in Indiana. They'll still be there when you get back."

"Won't they notice I'm gone? Who'll do my chores?"

This time, Al suppressed his grin. Typical Sam to be thinking about others at a time like this. That was one of the things that made him infinitely better at this leaping business than Al would have been.

"They won't notice." This was dangerous ground, and Al had to be very careful how he walked it. "My friend will be taking your place. Everyone else will see and hear you, but it will be him. I can't give you any more details."

"Okay," Sam nodded and began pacing around the room in a manner that Al recognized as indicative of working out a difficult problem. Al began to feel that he should get to the other Sam pretty soon, but he took a seat instead. He could rarely sit down while talking to the leaping Sam, so he might as well rest his legs now.

"Do you have any more questions for me?" he prompted after a short while. "I only have a few minutes. Then I have to get to work."

"Most of what I want to ask you probably can't answer." Young Sam paused. He pulled up a chair across from Al. "How long will I be here?"

"That's hard to say. It's usually several days, but it could be longer. My friend's on a…well, sort of a mission, and we don't really know how long it will take to finish it."

"That makes sense," said Sam. Then he chuckled nervously. "At least, as much as any of this makes sense. Are there other people here?"

"Yes, quite a few, but you won't see most of them. Some will bring you food and take care of anything else you may need. Then there's Dr. Beeks, our psychologist, who'll probably stop in to see if you want to talk about anything."

"Will I see you again?" Sam seemed a little embarrassed while asking this.

"If you want, I can make time."

"I do," said the boy shyly. "It's funny, but I feel like I already know you somehow."

"I know the feeling, kid." Al was thinking back to the first time he'd met an overeducated, highly intelligent lab rat named Sam Beckett. Despite the disparity in their ages and backgrounds, the two men had connected almost immediately. Maybe their friendship was one of those things that was just meant to be. Al found that thought comforting.

"You smell a little like smoke," the teen commented, and Al blinked at the change of topic. He was not immediately required to respond, however, as Sam went on. "Not cigarette smoke, though. Something different."

"Cigar," Al supplied. "I like cigars."

"My dad smokes cigarettes," Sam volunteered. "I sort of wish he wouldn't do it so much. He coughs a lot. That's probably not good, is it?"

"I…don't know," Al floundered, recognizing that he would need to make his retreat soon or risk revealing too much about Sam's future. His chest tightened as he realized that the boy in front of him had yet to experience real tragedy in his life. The Beckett family still inhabited the ancestral farm, Sam's father and brother were alive, and his sister was safe at home instead of married to an abusive alcoholic. In just a few months, though, the first change to those circumstances would occur.

_I'd spare you all of that if I could, kid, _Al thought earnestly. _And Sam will want to try_. He stood up abruptly.

"I'm sorry, but I have to go," he announced. "If you need anything, just ask the staff. I'll be back to check on you later."

"Okay. Nice to meet you, Al."

"Right back at you."

Without further ado, Al proceeded to the imaging chamber and stepped into a cornfield. Sam was nearby, and Al decided to play it light.

"A grown man in a teenage boy's body," he remarked. "Oh, the possibilities!"

The End

Author's Note: I want to thank those of you who reviewed. I would normally respond individually, but I just don't have the time. I always figured the waiting room must have had at least one camera in it so Al and the others would have some idea what they were walking into.


End file.
